Regret (Book 2, the Redemption Series)

Chapter 3

Jake let his ex-wife's call ring five times. Before he answered, Jake moved into the living room and took a seat on the couch; Sam joined him. With as much pleasantness as he could muster, he said, "Hi Kate."

"Jake?" She sounded out of breath. "I don't have time to explain. Sam is missing. I doubt it, but have you heard from her?"

"She's at my apartment."

"What?" Kate screamed through the phone.

Sam flinched. He waved off her whispered apology and said, "Kate, calm down. She's fine."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Jake— you lost that right a long time ago.

It was a stupid thing to say, he knew, since she'd never taken his suggestion to relax even when they were married. "You're right."

"Of course, I'm right. Did you know she snuck out of the house?"

"No. I just got back home from Michigan and found her sitting here." Jake could picture Kate at the other end of the phone, pacing around her exquisite kitchen with the butcher block and the designer pots and pans that she never cooked a meal with. He asked, "Was Sam grounded again? You punish her for any little thing. It's no wonder she sneaks out." 

Silence.

"Hello?"

Kate said, "Put Sam on the phone."

Jake looked to Sam, who shook her head and silently mouthed the word, NO. Jake said, "She's in the bathroom. I can drop her off later."

"I'll come get her now."

"Really. I can do it."

"No. We need to talk too, and I'd rather do it at your place." The phone beeped.

Kate never came to his apartment, which could only mean that she had things to say to them that she didn't want her new husband or stepdaughter to hear. Great. This night couldn't get any worse. Sam slumped deeper into the couch like all the bones had been removed from her body. Jake patted her leg. "Don't worry. We'll get through it together."

She laid her head on his shoulder. "Thanks. You're a good Dad."

"No. I should have done better by you. I should have . . . "

"Dad, stop."

"No." Jake blinked away his tears. "When Tom was murdered, I did some serious thinking. Too much, probably. And I came to the conclusion that things shouldn't go unsaid because sometimes you don't get a second chance."

"Dad— "

Undeterred, he said, "Sam, I'm very proud of you. You're growing into a wonderful young woman. You're strong, smart, beautiful, and you can do anything you set your mind to, so if you want to be an artist, then God damn it, you should."

"I love you." Sam hugged him. He didn't cry, but he could have even after they released their hold and smiled at one another. She fidgeted with the hem of her shorts. Hesitantly, she asked, "Do you think . . . Do you think that I could come live with you full-time?"

He sat up straighter. "What?"

"If it is not too much trouble, I was hoping that you would let me live here. I could keep the place clean and cook for you if you bought real food."

Gripping the arm of the couch, he asked, "Was that your big question? Was that the one you were afraid to ask?"

"Yes." She nodded her head slowly. "No pressure. I'll understand if I can't."

"Sorry, Sam. I got lost in all the talk with art school and SAT scores, but I'd love it if you stayed here."

"Are you serious? I won't cramp your style?"

"My style? Yeah, right. I eat carryout every night, watch cable because my TV is too old for Netflix, and then fall asleep on the couch. It's not a pretty picture—are you sure you want to live me?"

"Definitely."

Jake would have to increase his security, add a second deadbolt and a heavy-duty chain. And whatever job he found would have to be on days, so that he could be here every night with Sam, but he could make it work. There was no way he'd miss this opportunity to be a bigger part of her life.

Sam said, "There's only one problem."

"Let me guess. Your Mom doesn't know you want this either?"

"No."

"When you were young, I never wanted to put you in the middle of a legal battle that I'd probably lose anyway," Jake said. "However, now that you're almost an adult, I don't think there's anything she can do about it."

"You really think so?"

"Last time I looked into it, you had to be fourteen years old to make your own choice."

"Wow. Then you think we can do it?"

He tried to sound confident. "I do."